


Today, Tomorrow, Forever

by YuujinA



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anterograde Amnesia, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Leo de la Iglesia/Ji Guang-Hong, Minor Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, Slice of Life, everyone's a photographer in this, except Yuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 16:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10517913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YuujinA/pseuds/YuujinA
Summary: In which Yuri counts the seconds while Viktor embraces the moments, because time is nothing to someone who can't remember and everything for someone who doesn't want to forget.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is what happens when you have Ed Sheeran on repeat and you're an absolute sucker for angst ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

Sunlight drifts into his room, carrying the bracing breezes of spring and the crisp warmth of freshly fallen cherry blossoms littering the town pink. Yuri squints when the wind nips at his feet, pulling him away from the warm sand that sinks with each step and the pristine waters rushing past his toes. The cocktail of sunshine and seagulls slowly fades away, replaced by the feeling of soft pillow on cheek.

He wakes up with a start, eyes glazed over with hazy delirium as he tries but fails to make sense of the tears running down his cheeks. His pillowcase smells of tears and lavendar; of cold nights and warm arms. He stares blankly at the linens, crinkled even on the side he hasn't slept on and he feels like he should be remembering something.

His head spins when he sits up, habitually clasping the nightstand for support. Getting out of bed seems infinitely harder today, and Yuri wonders why his knees feel this sore. The familiar haze of bumps and silhouettes blends into white washed walls once his glasses are on, a low yawn escaping his throat. He stretches the lingering fatigue away when his eyes go wide for a fraction of a second, hands dropping to his side. His head tilts slightly when he scans the pastel walls and the cascading curtains dancing in the April wind. It's a sight that he sees every day and knows like the back of his hand, yet, somehow - today's just different.

Perhaps it's how his books are no longer arranged in alphabetical order, just an unflattering mass of fading browns and second skin beige piled up on his birch bookshelf. There are new cracks on his walls, though he remembers having them repainted just last week. It's his room without a doubt, just not exactly how he remembers it, and Yuri thinks he shouldn't be feeling this out of place here.

 

Hand grazing the pillow beside him, he finds something smooth and flat.

It’s a worn out scrapbook that's fits strangely well in his grip, pages beneath it dog eared and slightly yellowing.

There isn't an inkling of recognition. Frowning, he flips open to the first page and a note slips out. On it, an awfully familiar handwriting - his handwriting.

 

_"You are Yuri Katsuki and you have anterograde amnesia."_

 

Shock surfaces in the form of parted lips and widened pupils; Yuri may have very well stopped breathing. A lump lodges in his throat, all two hundred and six bones of his body coming into place in a sickening crunch as he double takes the sentence frantically. There's no doubt it's news to him. News that's so absurd and ridiculous, yet so familiar and rational at the same time. Almost like he's heard this before somewhere but somehow erased it from memory.

 

_"This means you’re incapable of creating new memories, though your case is a little different, luckier if I have to be optimistic. You see, the new memories you make won’t be forgotten immediately, you get to keep them for ninety days but once they’re up, you’ll forget everything up to the last thing you remember - which will probably be the day before the car accident three years ago. The one that caused all of this."_

 

He doesn't notice the ugly scar on his leg till now. Running down his upper thigh and stopping short of a small bump on his knee, painting a pale pink line on his skin. His fingers trace it gingerly, faded stitches still stinging a little and he doesn't want to imagine how much worse it must've looked after the accident - not that he's got a singe clue of how it happened.

 

_"You won't even remember writing this last night but I hope you’ll believe me when I say I wish this was all just a lie. The reality I live in now is so...cruel. Every day I'll meet people who claim to be my friends. They'll show pictures, pictures I don't even remember smiling for. Text messages and late night conversations I don't even recall sending. Places in town that I never knew existed. Places that don't exist anymore - it tears me up so much. I try. I really do try. But I know this is how it is. I'll never remember anything for long. The only memories I'll ever get to keep are the ones I started out with. Everything before the night that changed my life. Everything else...well. I guess I'll never get to keep them._

_Though I hope I'll remember one person. Just this one person. Is that really too much to ask? I'm praying to every single star, any God up there that'll help me remember him. Because he's given me every possible reason to live a life as pointless as this. The one who makes me laugh, who makes me smile, even occasionally breaking down in tears - and I'd still choose to let him do it all over again in a heart beat. This person who deserves so much more than I could possibly ever give him - his name's-"_

 

He never gets to the end of the note. It ends there abruptly, words that follow obscured by jagged bits of paper - too precisely torn off to be a mere accident. He wonders if it was done by the same person whose name he never got around to knowing. Someone who sounded like he meant the world to him.

An empty chuckle escapes him. It's not like it matters in the end anyway. Those memories that he wanted to keep so badly - all gone just like that. Pathetic.

Glancing at the clock perched on his night stand, the date shows 17 May 2017 instead of 18 April 2014 and Yuri suddenly feels terribly lost and small in his room.

Sitting there in silence, listening to the faint shuffles of feet and distant conversations, he now knows why the new discoveries sit so well in his head.

He must've heard them so many times before, must’ve woken up to the same situation somewhere along the lines because it doesn’t faze him as much as he thinks it should - and that terrifies him.

He tries to focus his attention elsewhere, not wanting his emotions to get the better of him. Settling on going through the scrapbook, it's filled with dates and faces. A polaroid collage of everyone in his life – family, friends, strangers - all fitted in crisp pages with little descriptions to follow.

 

_This is Minako, owner of the bar and dance studio down the street; here is Yuuko, married to Takeshi and mother to triplets – Axel, Lutz, Loop (you tell them apart from their hair); And over here’s Guang Hong, new Chinese employee at the flower shop, you see him at the rink often, a nice kid; there's Phichit but he moved back to Thailand to take over his Dad's business, we skype from time to time (18 February 2015). Here's Leo, the American who moved into Phichit’s old house (28 March 2015), you've only met him once when you tried to go over to Phichit's, Guang Hong’s mentions him a lot._

 

It’s a synopsis of the past three years he doesn’t remember living. Of old friends and new acquaintances, neighbours and familiar strangers, presented clearly in military precision. At some point, he begins counting the number of faces he's crossed out to the new ones, and to his disappointment, there’s a lot.

The high school friends and university mates he remembers hanging with just yesterday, all living their lives away in bigger cities or entirely different countries, long gone from his life. There aren't any new notes of them, the last ones dating back to two years ago, and the only thing he has left are empty spaces and bygone dates that makes him feel awfully like crying.

The book falls open paged by his side, the despair he should’ve felt earlier finally catching up to him as it robs him of breath. The distant rumbles of friendships, laughter and camaraderie, all the things that he no longer possesses, pushes out the tears in his eyes. His eyes fall on the fading photographs and scratched out phone numbers. The string of reasons for their absence all listed out in painfully foreign terms. The hurt seeps into his being one molecule at a time as he wonders what went wrong. Why is he being left behind?

Now aware of the big void in his chest, it burns unbearably and the tears fall each time he blinks. Soon, his face is lost in his hands as he tastes the saltiness on his lips, throbbing with each sob that racks his body. He doesn’t want to cry, though he has every reason to.

The fact that he never gets the chance to say goodbye – not being able to remember if he’s said goodbye. Being caught in time but time moves on anyway, people coming or leaving without him knowing – it’s horrible, cruel and unfair.

Because what’s the point to life if he won't remember living it? If he’ll just wake up one day and forget every single moment that's passed. Again and again, till the day his brain doesn't work anymore. 

The realisation terrifies him and the glue that has been holding him together finally wears off. He breaks down completely; scared, bitter and confused of what his reality's come to.

Amongst the tears and silent sobs, he doesn't notice his door sliding open, revealing his mother’s gentle face that clouds with a weary sadness when she sees him like this, bent over in tears, hands curling into balls on his chest. A sight that she’s seen too many times to be alarmed by anymore. 

Though it still hurt, she doubts it’ll ever stop hurting.

The bed sinks as she settles down by his side, encasing him in a comforting embrace - the only thing she has to offer. Her small frame bends over his that is racked with sobs, as if to protect him from the time that’s eluding him, the world that's went on without him.

“You’ll be alright, Yuri,” she says, allowing a stray tear to graze her cheek as she stares at the sobbing mess in her arms. What was once the boy who smiled so brightly, now only a broken man lost in time’s game of hide and seek. “You always have.”

 

 

-x-

 

 

By noon, Yuri has learnt four things.

It's 17 May 2017, making him twenty four years old.

Mari tied the knot last year – the lucky man being none other than the one who’s broken her heart twice but somehow managed to put it back together this time.

The old park where he used to take Vicchan for walks has been reclaimed, making way for a new mall in hopes of attracting more tourists to this small coastal town.

He still gives basic lessons at the rink thanks to Yuuko, who doesn’t see how his condition would affect his ability to teach. Though he does have to take it easy on the jumps now. Another blow to his leg can mean never stepping foot on the ice again. 

He excuses himself to the beach once he's done with lunch, Mrs Katsuki surprisingly encouraging of him going out despite the whole commotion he made this morning, only telling him to be back by dinner or they'll start without him.

He smiles a little at this - some things haven't changed at all.

Once he steps out of Yuutopia, the outside world doesn't seem as daunting as he thinks.

The steady slope leading to the beach is still the same fifteen minute walk down the cherry blossom path, lined with gently swaying trees and quiet residences that don't notice him as he passes by. They never have for the past twenty four years.

His scrapbook drums against his thigh, footsteps in line with the road that spreads out endlessly before him. The breeze blows a familiar scent, of distant times and recent memories, intertwined to form a single coexistence.

When the row of houses transcend into fading blue railings, he stops and stares far out the sea, listening to the waves lapping against mossy concrete, like music to his ears.

He chooses to settle down on a bricked structure by the shore, where the tides leap and crash below him. There's the occasional splash that douses his feet with chilling water before rushing back to join the ocean. He allows his gaze to wander, tracing the stream back to the horizon, to some place far and unreachable - even to the hands of time. A place that Yuri wishes he can go to right now.

The beach is a frequent haunt of his; he visits whenever life gets too much or if he just needs a quiet place to sort his mind. The distant cries of seagulls and the saltiness on his lips ease the tension in his jaw, throbbing and aching from all the crying earlier.

It comes out of nowhere and nearly gives Yuri a heart attack. One moment he’s earnestly going through his scrapbook in hopes of finding new information, the next he feels a furry weight coming from the side, tackling him to the ground in one great leap.

His bewildered self tries to make sense of the situation, enduring the affectionate licks and heavy paws on his chest as he wipes his glasses clean against his shirt, fumbling to put them back on. After a one-sided struggle, he manages to sit up and registers the brown poodle that’s perched eagerly on his lap, wagging its tail back and forth as if it’s thrilled to see him.

“Vicchan?” The name leaves him unconsciously, still puzzled over its sudden appearance and the fact that this dog is a spitting image to the one he lost so long ago.

He reaches out to pat its head, soft fur combing through his fingers as it nuzzles fondly into his touch, trying to squeeze its large bottom onto his lap. It licks him on the cheek again, making Yuri crack a small smile.

_"Makkachin!"_

A voice carries over in the distance, a voice - that for some reason – has him looking around, searching, like a biological reaction, almost as if it had called out his name instead.

The poodle breaks free from his grip, bounding back to a man on the other side of the stone structure in the midst of leaning his maroon bike against a tree. His knees bend as it leaps into his arms, chiding it for running off again when he wasn't looking though his expression is gentle and fond, just like how it is when he meets Yuri's gaze later on.

Brown wavering eyes reflect on clear blue ones, like the blazing sun dipping into the cool waters far off in the horizon. There’s calmness in the man’s tall stature, clad in an oversized hoodie and fading grey track pants. His silvery hair billowing in the wind suggests that he's definitely foreign, as if his strikingly blue eyes weren't evidenct enough. Yuri doesn't recall seeing anyone like him in his scrapbook either. 

The man doesn’t say anything, only staring at Yuri with a thoughtful expression, as if waiting for something to happen.

Whatever it is he's expecting though clearly doesn't come as he soon lets go of a wispy sigh, gaze falling in faint reminiscence of disappointment and something else that Yuri can't quite make out.

Without much hesitation, he starts making his way up to him, faithful poodle lagging behind. Yuri promptly looks away, not wanting to attract unwanted attention though it proves useless when he hears the stranger's voice floating up from behind.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Viktor."

He holds a hand out, lips curved in a friendly smile that is almost too natural to rekindle.

But Yuri is speechless, pupils dilating to resemble saucers.

His voice. He doesn't comprehend his voice. It's new, certainly, but he can't recall where he's heard it before - if ever. It just hangs in the silence, waiting to be acknowledged by something, anything in his head but alas, he's clueless.

His gaze flicks uncertainly over that warm smile, glittering blue orbs and soft, pale skin, feeling something familiar stir in his heart. 

He doesn't take his hand, fingers frozen to his side, refusing to budge no matter how hard he tries. There's an aching reminder at the back of his mind that he should be remembering something. Something important.

Mistaking his silence for anger, the man draws back his hand sheepishly, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“I’m really sorry for what happened earlier. My dog gets real riled up when he sees someone he likes, you're not hurt I hope?" 

After a long pause, with the blue eyed stranger growing increasingly embarrassed by his silence, Yuri’s senses return and it dawns on him how rude he's being to this poor man.

"Oh I-I'm fine. Sorry, I didn't mean to put you in a spot there. I was just...spacing out," he makes up an excuse, not particularly meeting his eyes.

The weight falls off Viktor's shoulders, releasing a sigh that he promptly tries to disguise as a cough. Yuri catches a glimpse of him from the corner of his eye, a good natured grin now grazing his features and his heart skips a beat or two.

The poodle appears in front of him again, large, beady eyes staring into his adoringly as its tail wags side to side, anticipating more rubs. He cracks a sheepish smile at this, reaching out to grant its wish as he marvels over its uncanny resemblance to Vicchan.

Seeing this, Viktor decides to settle down by his side, resting a hand on his propped up leg as he stares into the distance. His kind smile is still there which makes Yuri wonder if that's his usual expression.

"Makkachin seems to like you a lot."

"Does he?"

Viktor nods, pointing at the dog that’s now sprawled over Yuri’s lap and pouts like a child.

"Look, he's giving you all the attention even though I'm here. Brat. _I'm_ the one who's feeding you," he whines, poking Makkachin on the nose. Comically enough, it doesn't respond to his touch at, choosing to lick Yuri's shirt which earns an annoyed side eye from the foreigner.

Yuri breaks into a sheepish laugh. Though unsure of the other man’s presence, he reckons from the way his eyes shone in a way that proclaimed no devil – he should be alright.

“Were you upset? You looked quite down there. Had a bad day?"

“Oh no I'm fine,” Yuri lies, unaware of the fact that it’s so obvious when he does. "I was just looking at the view and must've drifted away I guess..."

He notices the smile has fallen off Viktor’s face, replaced by lowering lashes and a resigned gaze that averts to the ocean again, fixated on something far away.

“You’re a pretty bad liar aren't you?” He muses, features softening as if he remembers something fond. “But I understand. I'm just a stranger after all. I apologize if I seemed like I was prying."

His tone is neutral and his eyes are crinkled - but his words sting so much it puzzles Yuri. He knows they don't mean any harm but for some reason that's beyond him - his heart's sinking in a bottomless abyss.

He doesn't know why it's bothering him so much - or _what's_  bothering him for that matter. All he knows is that Viktor and stranger don't go well together, making his head pound and his heart twist. It just sounds  _wrong._

Lifting his gaze, he finally _looks_ at Viktor. Brown irises grazing every detail of his being a millimetre at a time – from the streaks of sunlight sifting through his hair to the redness that tints his nose. Somehow, he thinks he knows how they feel under his fingers, probably like velvet; very pleasant, and all this molds into a single question that Yuri has to muster up his courage to ask.

“Have we perhaps...met before?"

A long silence ensues, leaving Yuri to drown in suspense. The lapping of the waves drowns out his racing pulse, heart hammering in his chest when he sees a vague smile dancing across Viktor's lips, still staring at something that he cannot see. He wonders if he’s just doing this to avoid his eye.

"Have we?"

Their gazes lock, proving Yuri wrong. His azure eyes burn with an intensity that doesn’t match his teasing smile, his voice a puzzling mixture of amusement and melancholy blended together to sound almost accusing.

"I don't know. You just seem so...familiar that I…I thought-" Yuri pauses, his own words suddenly seeming so ridiculous that it makes him laugh. "My bad, I'm being an idiot again. Gosh what am I even saying?"

Viktor doesn't say anything, leaning back on his arms as his eyes glaze over with that same look of disappointment from before, except he doesn't try to hide it this time.

"Pity."

"What do you mean?" he frowns, "Do we actually know each other from somewhere?"

He looks at Yuri like he has something he wants to say but the words never leave his mouth. It's like an internal battle's playing out in his stoic gaze, though Yuri has no clue what he's so conflicted about.

His brooding expression soon transcends into two rows of pearly whites as he fixes his hair that's blowing in the wind. It makes a strangely beautiful sight, one that flushes his cheeks.

"No. I don't think we do," Viktor then breaks into a playful grin. "But I guess we know each other now. So what'd you say? Friends?"

“Friends?" Yuri echoes, trying to wrap his head around the idea. He reaches out a hand, wanting to return the gesture he ignored earlier before but then flashes of those crossed out faces in his scrapbook come to mind and he falters. His hand falls back to his side.

The thought of being left behind scares him. He doesn't know if there's a point in having friends anymore.

“You wouldn't want to be friends with me."

"Why?" Viktor balks, eyebrows knitted together.

“ _Why?_ ” Yuri laughs, a soulless sound, "Because I won't even remember you by the end of the year – no – by  _July_ …there’s no point in it really. I'll only waste your time and I'd hate to do that to you."

He registers this all must sound utterly confusing to Viktor who has no clue about his life But he's already said too much to leave him hanging and strangely, Viktor doesn't question him either.

"You see," He swallows, eyes glazing over, fighting this urge to cry. "Three months down the road I won't have a single clue of who you are. Not your name, not how you look like - nothing. I have anterograde amnesia and that…that only makes me someone who  _forgets_...though the funny thing is, I feel like _I'm_  being forgotten too. Hilarious ain't it? I feel like karma's getting back at me for a crime I can't even remember...I'll never remember."

The last few words come as a whisper. Like the brittle foam on the ocean's surface, Yuri feels so insignificant and small.

"Don't waste your time. I'll just forget you."

“So what if you do?" Viktor retaliates, surprising Yuri as he gives his shoulder a squeeze. "I'm good. My brain's good - I'll remember everything. Memories don't die as long as someone remembers right?"

Yuri snorts. He wants to retort that no - it isn't enough. It'll never be enough unless he can remember them himself.

Though all this coming from a stranger does put him off. The things Viktor's saying certainly aren't what you should be saying to a stranger you just met. But Yuri tries to look pass it. Because he can't deny for one blissful second, his words genuinely gave him hope. 

Struggling to think of a more appropriate answer, he chews on his lip, nerve endings racing in his brain like a hamster on wheels because  _how on earth is he supposed to respond to this without seeming like an ungrateful jerk?_

He never manages to get a word out, however, as Viktor is already on his feet, coaxing a rather reluctant Makkachin who just got comfortable on his lap. 

"I was in the middle of work before our little chat so I'm afraid I can't stay any longer," he explains, already a few steps ahead. "It was really nice talking to you. Cheer up won't you?" 

Yuri blinks, a little taken aback by his sudden farewell but then smiles wryly at him, not wanting to feed him sugar coated lies. "See you around then." 

The man nods cheerfully, already straddling his bike, hands gripping the handles. He turns to gift him one last dazzling smile. "See you later, Yuri."

With that, he's gone like the wind, peddling off the grassy terrain. His words doesn't sink in till he's gone, leaving Yuri to stare dumbfounded at his shrinking back.

He never told him his name. 

So how did he know?

And more importantly...what did he mean by 'see you later'?

A chill runs down his spine, unsettling him to the core. His head spins as another wave of pain hits. Yuri has to hug his knees close to keep himself grounded.

His gaze settles on the scrapbook again and his fingers find his pen before he knows it. 

_"This is Viktor. Silvery hair, blue eyes. You met him at the beach and he has a cute dog named Makkachin, says he'll remember everything (17 May 2017)."_

He leaves a space on top, thinking maybe one day he'll have a photo to fill it.

Lying on his back with the scrapbook wedged beneath his head, Yuri stares wearily at the azure sky, chocolate eyes drifting away with the clouds as the afternoon slump starts kicking in. Stills of Viktor's sweet smile plays back in his mind and though he's still wary, there's no denying the part of him that thinks the man is absolutely stunning; albeit very mysterious. 

His eyelids grow heavier and he succumbs to the fatigue eventually, letting them meet to form two thin lines. 

The seagulls and choppy waves disappear from his ears, leaving him to doze off in the afternoon's gentle breeze.    

 

 

-x-

 

 

By the time he registers the salty air again, the stars have already made an entrance and the wind's no longer pleasantly warm. Yuri grimaces, knowing full well how screwed he is. 

Scrambling to his feet, he scoops up the scrapbook and makes a run for it, not even sparing a glance at his watch to know that it's well past the time he has to be home.

He sprints the whole fifteen minutes down the neighbourhood, dim street lights flitting past his view, already dreading facing his mother's barrage of worries.

When the doormat squelches beneath his feet, he almost knocks over a bonsai plant kicking off his sneakers, steadying it at the last minute or he'd have another thing to explain. The hallway fills with his hasty footsteps as he races down the empty corridors, only stopping when he stumbles into the dining room, panting and leaning on the wall for support.  

It takes him a while to catch his breath, feeling like he's just had his whole life sucked out of him. His lens finally settles and he soon registers the situation he's walked in on and his heart stops.

Sitting there in Mari's seat, looking more like family than Yuri does. 

 _"Viktor?"_  He gasps, eyes widening in disbelief as he takes in the six foot, blue eyed foreigner in his dining room - in his  _home_. 

 With a pair of chopsticks wedged in his mouth, Viktor looks his way, breaking into a broad smile as soon as he registers the boy's baffled face. 

And Yuri swears he's never felt this many emotions running through him at once.  

"Welcome home, Yuri!" 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Two months and five rewrites later, this fic has finally happened ;; I'm so glad to finally have it off my chest. This will probably be a long one! Do tell me your thoughts in the comments, it really keeps me going ^^ and if there's anything you think I can work on - constructive criticism is always welcome! (ﾉ≧ڡ≦)


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